I touched the turbulent sky on parchment paper wings,
Crashing to the morning mist engulfing me in those terrible tresses.
Oh, how a constant echo of sorrow rings
And everything is wicked that reality undresses.

And I ever long for that open abode,
Where those in flight soar peacefully
But my feelings are suppressed and the worst stowed
And I hold myself down with the weight of me.

Look upon those clouds, carelessly they drift,
Much like my thoughts they disappear
And now that radiating rift
Well, it was never so near.

I grow old but remain so young
My naivety is a razor, recurring and unrighteous.
How many sentiments has my heart sung
I know this one is over and any effort gratuitous.

I wish we could fly to the south of France
There we would laugh, love and dance,
But like everyday and overnight
There fades in and out the light.

These romantic stories fail
And all my rights reveal my wrongs
We find it dying like the last ringing chord
Of two lovers sharing a sad song.